


Unacceptable Losses

by QueenofBaws (Sisterwives)



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: BUCKETS OF ANGST, Implied LexZex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 15:57:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/928379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sisterwives/pseuds/QueenofBaws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They knew what being assigned Oblivion meant, and they were more than willing to accept those terms. But as is so often said, things change. Not always for the better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unacceptable Losses

Camaraderie was the ball and chain that tore the others apart. He had always held himself to a higher sort of standard, shrugging off the foolish notions of friendship and belonging. They were ridiculous words that he hadn't put much stock in since being tucked in and read to sleep. And he'd seen the after effects of the childish pipe dream--for being something so highly valued, affection seemed to only punish those who partook of it. When the labs fell, he'd seen it firsthand: the laughter shared between Lea and the stray withered into crippling silence, the brotherhood between Aeleus and Dilan faded into ravenous contempt.  
  
No, Zexion wanted no part of that.  
  
Besides, a true leader didn't  _need_  friends. A true leader needed  _minions_.  
  
He'd forged his alliances carefully, tediously, weighing pros and cons as he would with any other major decision. Contrary to any lingering suspicions his onetime cohorts had, he hadn't taken Vexen and Lexaeus for nostalgia's sake. There were no vestiges of honor or familiarity, no wispy rememberings of remorse or debt. Vexen was brilliant, much more so than any of the others, and while he greatly disliked having to deal with the Academic's histrionics and gripings, he shuddered at the idea of letting his mind fall into the grubby hands of any of the others. Lexaeus had been a slightly different case, in that it had been  _he_  who had first approached Zexion with allegiance on his lips. The Hero was brilliant in his own right, while boasting of impressive strength and loyalty. But what Zexion appreciated most was the fact that they were both disgustingly inept when it came to lying. And that was good.  
  
He was liar enough for them all.   
  
Alliances were significantly easier to deal with than informal relationships, he found. Sure, it meant that he had suddenly come into possession of a few more adversaries than originally anticipated, but it was hardly as though Marluxia and Xaldin could throw anything at him that he couldn't handle with ease. But the minor inconvenience had its perks, namely  _his_  enemies--those who would side eye his every move, lips turning down into the beginnings of scowls whenever he swept into the room--now fell to Vexen and Lexaeus. The Founders were not nearly so foolish as to make open attempts on  _three_  of their ilk, and no neophyte would dare raise a hand or voice against the Hero.  
  
And so he grew complacent in his post. The child who had been so silent and withdrawn was suddenly a verbose powerhouse of insults and mockery. His eyes acquired the cold gleam of accomplishment that came with having hired hands, of being untouchable. His power and skill improved exponentially, turning him into something dark, shadowed. He quickly rose through the ranks, catching the disapproving eyes of his would-be superiors.  
  
But not all of his enemies were so easily spotted, or so easily contained. He and his allies were assigned to Oblivion, conscripted alongside the traitors. For the first time since donning the cloak, he was struck with the sinking sensation that he couldn't afford protection enough to withstand those white walls.   
  
The loss of Vexen affected him like a particularly rude snap of a rubber band against skin. Unexpected,  _rude_ , but not nearly enough to cause pain. He glowered as the scent of his almost-father faded from Oblivion's void, leaving him one weaker. Eyes narrowed and a frown was set more firmly in place as he lectured the air about reprehensible actions and what he was sure would be later classified by the higher-ups as friendly fire--though there was nothing friendly about Axel and the ashes he left in his wake.   
  
More than anything, he was inconvenienced: Vexen had been  _his_  pawn to use as he wished, and now dealing with Marluxia would be all the more difficult. There was no love lost between the felled Academic and himself, just an allegiance put to an untimely end. He could get along just fine, albeit with dirtier hands.  
  
Or so he thought, until Lexaeus was destroyed.   
  
If Vexen's death had been an unpleasant sting, Lexaeus' was a tidal wave, weak waves of uncertainty and discomfort lapping at his shins before he was deafened by the roar of the storm and the tide pulled him under entirely. The Hero's scent began to fade, and he found himself gasping, choking on the air to try and find what had been lost, to no avail. All at once, he was awash in what might've been agony, might have been anguish, might have been nothing at all, memories and inconsequential conversations rushing back at once, filling his lungs and his chest with something thick and heavy and hot.   
  
When he came back to his senses, he found he'd fallen to his knees, a knotted fist tearing at his shirt and skin where a heart had once resided, throat sore and shredded with a shout he couldn't remember. "You were supposed to keep me  _safe_ " was a mantra in his ears, repeating and warping until it became another monstrous war cry of pain and confusion, but he clenched his jaw tight to keep from anything escaping.   
  
All at once he was a child again, vulnerable and open to attack, pitifully small and distressingly  _alone_ , no one there to console or protect his fragile being. True leaders didn't mourn felled brutes. They sneered and bemoaned the loss of heavy hands and thick skin. So he would ignore the foreign burning at the back of his eyes.   
  
Axel found him in one of the basements, and his nerves lit up like the Academic had, at the other's hands. He watched the Flurry warily as he paced, "tsktsk"ing the loss of his comrades, smirking that maddening smirk of his, before gathering his gall and leveling his gaze, asking if the Schemer had any thoughts of ending the Keyblade wielder whelp's reign. "He  _was_ ," he pointed out in that insufferable drawl of his, tapping a spidery finger to his chin, "The one who destroyed Lexaeus, after all."  
  
Zexion swatted the idea away like an errant mosquito, though he could feel a heavy fist of anger building in the coil of his gut. "You know that isn't how I do things," he snapped, but the way Axel's grin spread said it all. It  _wasn't_  how he worked.  
  
But things had changed.


End file.
